Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL]

Chapter 191: Swaying Jasmine — XV

As the day drew to its end, the sun crawled across the sky with the dusk approaching slowly. The heavy crown was thus handed to the darkness that followed, the sun sank between the high, snow-capped mountains, leaving behind trails of blood red and saffron scattered throughout the indigo canvas.

The streaks of twisted red in the sky as though that distant celestial body was reflecting the carnage below. However far removed it may be from the mortal suffering below, it still bore witness to every life lost, every trickle of blood spilled, and every lost light of vitality snuffed out.

On the fifth day of the ceasefire, Li Xinyuan left the tent he had been toiling away inside, ears ringing from the constant cacophony of pained noises he was surrounded by and could not hope to soothe entirely.

Hands supporting the ache in his lower back, the surgeon straightened up, bones crackling faintly under his flesh. Allowing a soft groan to fall off his lips, the youth wiped the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

Even if the war was at a standstill currently, neither he nor the rest of the doctors had the luxury of proper rest, oftentimes working themselves to the brink of exhaustion; barely teetering on the precipice of unconsciousness.

"Doctor Baek?" From the other tent emerged a man, older of age and seemingly mild of countenance. He was someone Li Xinyuan had made somewhat of an acquaintance with, even if he was — at nearly every second of the day — preoccupied, he had managed to make a vaguely familiar relationship with some of the doctors; the man before him being one of the lot. "Are you resting?"

Pulled out of his muddled thoughts, the surgeon nodded after a beat, blinking a few times as he tried to get his mind in order. "... Yes."

"Ah," nodded the man, moving to stand by him — basking in silence, as if he — too — was taking a reprieve from the bloody suffering of soldiers, "it is a hard way of life." Li Xinyuan cast a sidelong glance towards him, lips pursed. "These men, they leave their homes, to defend the honour of their lands. A pursuit of glory, I would say."

Heart thudding against his ribs, ears still echoing with the screams of pain, Li Xinyuan’s hands clenched on his sides, fingers digging into the coarse fabric of the modest clothing. "Glory? It is a noble pursuit indeed," he paused, words coated in thick sarcasm, "empty pursuits, but noble indeed."

The man stilled at his sharp words, stunned momentarily at the thinly veiled displeasure in them. Then, he recovered, scarcely finding his voice. "I am afraid you’re too swift in making that judgement, Doctor Baek."

Li Xinyuan’s eyes narrowed at the careful remark, a storm brewing in the pit of his belly, tormented with emptiness as it was.

Aggrieved, he kicked at the rock under his feet, lips twisting into a sardonic smile. "Perhaps." He did not argue, not finding it within himself to do so. "Still, what glory is worth more than life? Is it still worth fighting for if it leaves them with life-long impairments?"

The man sighed, falling into a contemplative silence but made no further counters. After a few moments of sombre silence shared between the two, the former dusted off his robes perfunctorily and left with a nod.

Li Xinyuan nodded in turn, watching him leave as he rubbed at his ears, trying — without success — to suppress the growing swamp of unease in his heart. It was akin to a vast and rotten system that had taken root deep in his chest, burrowing deeper and deeper; until it stole away his ability to breathe at ease.

Maybe he was still too modern at heart — in spite of his birth and upbringing being of this world, practically making him a native — to truly understand the senseless pursuit of glory. Slightly, the surgeon turned back, looking over his shoulder. Or was it his privilege that prevented the understanding?

As soon as the thought struck him, the youth froze, breath hitching in his throat, a lump beginning to form in the back of his throat as he slowly made his way back to the tent, blood flowing thick and sluggish in his veins.

He was simply too privileged. The thought struck him like a tight slap, leaving him hollow.

The surgeon forced himself back into the tent, feet dragging through the mushed soil and trickling blood mixed with it; his body was resisting the too abrupt an end to his break.

He was privileged.

Li Xinyuan’s hands shook, clenched at his sides as he sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. Hunger burned in his belly, the muscles contracted around nothing, acid roiling in the empty pit. He stamped it down.

Golden eyes swept across the scene of horror before him, lingering every so often on the writhing men that lay on every single inch of the floor.

Some had a leg dangling, attached by a thread of muscles, some had gashes deep enough their bones could be seen, some had holes in their stomach. Some of them had no recognizable flesh on their face to speak of, yet more were barely breathing as they lay in the pool of their own blood.

Everywhere the surgeon looked, all he saw was the gruesome outcome of war. Nausea clawed at him, baring its bloody teeth as it crawled up his oesophagus, kicking and ripping into him.

Suddenly, Li Xinyuan could watch no more and turned his head away, eyes squeezed shut, a shudder wracking through his body in a current.

"... Ar... Argh—" His eyes snapped open, feet instinctively carrying him to the source of the distressed sound.

When he stopped and opened his eyes, Li Xinyuan found himself meeting the bloodshot eyes of a man with half of his face hidden underneath the sloppy bandage work. It was so abysmally done, blood soaked through the thick layers still. "Pl– Please... Please kill me..."

Li Xinyuan swallowed thickly, forcing his emotions into the deepest corner of his heart as he pushed himself into his professionalism. "It will be better," he murmured soothingly, reaching for the bandages with deceptively steady — and gloved — hands. "Please hold on longer, comrade."

The man’s mouth opened, emitting only a single guttural noise in response. His hands, bound by his side, clearly out of commission, convulsed. "... Home." His voice whistled out of his lungs, only aggravating the bloody hole in his throat. "I... My... Home."

Li Xinyuan did not have the heart to look at him as he worked on his wounds, trying to control the tremors in his hands. "Yes, yes," said he, voice fraying at the seams, "you will return to your homestead as soon as this war ends."

The man followed the movements of his hands with one eye, opened with great effort, blood gurgling in his throat. "Do... Know... My ho-m-me?"

"No." The surgeon shook his head, stitching the gaping wound across his chest as cleanly and swiftly as he could. "Nor do I need to know."

The man flinched, pain flaring in his legs, followed by a stabbing ache behind his eyes. "I am... I am—"

"You must not talk anymore, comrade."

Suddenly, with an astounding burst of strength, the wounded man’s hand shot up, wrapping tightly around the doctor’s arm, forcing the latter to meet his—eye. "My... Home is... ..."

For a split second, Li Xinyuan’s eyes turned wide, horror flashed in his gaze as a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. Then, finally, his face turned calm, with a stern nod, he reached to pull the man’s hand off his arm, finished dressing the last of his wounds and stood up.

Before he walked away, the doctor left a single piece of advice behind. "My words still stand—rest well."

This time, the youth did not call him comrade. A single word with such heavy weight behind it.

...

By the first rays of the new sunrise, the man without a face or home...

He was no more.

Just another corpse in the sea of bodies without a name to call. Forgotten or erased, whichever it may be.